


The Wings That You Burn

by runicmagitek



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Angst and Feels, Celes just needs a hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Mid-Canon, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Treat, World of Ruin, and Sabin gives the best hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22704256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: “You’re truly not afraid?” she asked a moment later.“Afraid of… what?”“Ofme.”“Ofyou?” A beat, then, “Never.”The road to finding others is desolate, but Sabin isn't about to give up. Not even on the woman accompanying him that he barely knows.
Relationships: Celes Chere & Macías "Mash" Rene Figaro | Sabin Rene Figaro
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The Wings That You Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/gifts).



His thoughts seldom lingered on the woman marked as the Imperial traitor; he worried more about keeping warm in the dead of Narshe than whether a spy was in their ranks. Maybe Edgar had more insight. After all, he infiltrated the opera with her. That was more his scene, anyways. The stage theatrics, the airship hijacking, the trip to Vector… all things he missed out on. Voluntarily, at that. Somebody had to stay in Zozo and look over Terra. Gau and Mog kept him company and when their allies returned, she wasn’t there. Not until the Floating Continent—at least for Sabin. But by then, it was already over. The world perished along with whatever hope flickered in the hearts of the survivors.

And yet Celes, of all people, found her way to him.

He cackled and scooped her into his arms, spinning in place. It wasn’t until his elation subsided that he registered her blank gaze. If Sabin learned anything from his royalty days, it was a single look spoke a thousand words—and hers filled enough books to require a library.

He should have known better; they were strangers, in a sense, despite their shared cause. Or maybe even that died with the rest of the world.

“I thought you were gone,” he tried to explain, “along with everyone else.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Celes said, though her voice didn’t match the burning energy of his timbre.

“But we’re here now!” He clapped her shoulder, never noticing the subtle flinch in her weary muscles. “So maybe there is hope!”

She drew in a breath and nodded. “Maybe there are others.” A pause, then, “Will you search with me?”

Sabin couldn’t hide his grin if he tried. “I thought you’d never ask!”

They cleaned out the single merchant in Tzen of his wares in preparation for their journey. Sabin loaded a threadbare sack with their supplies while Celes scouted possible trails. The barren landscape did more than shift since that ill-fated day; the earth trembled as the Light of Judgment eviscerated what once was. In the ruins was a world neither he nor Celes recognized.

“Honestly,” Sabin said, barely a mile outside of town, “I never left Tzen. Figured it wasn’t worth testing my luck out in the new unknown. Travelers came and went, speaking of strange beasts roaming about, but that’s nothing the two of us can’t handle, right?”

She never answered. Maintaining their slow, yet steady pace, Celes stared at the horizon.

“So, uh….” Sabin lengthened his stride to meet her. “What about you, Celes? I mean, you had to leave wherever you were before to bump into me, but was the road to Tzen alright?”

He swore she hitched her breath. Or maybe it was a shift in the pathetic breeze.

“It doesn’t matter, anymore,” was all she offered before picking up the pace.

Sabin stood momentarily, watching her silhouette trek onwards. Was she frailer than before? And her prized rune blade—where was it? An ordinary broadsword dangled from her hip, now. Or had these changes occurred already, when she wasn’t around?

When _he_ wasn’t around.

“You know, I’m glad you found me,” he told her during their first night camping in the wild. “Was itching to do something. Give Kefka a taste of his own medicine and all that!”

She never met his gaze, staring into the meager fire barely keeping them warm. Well, more like him, considering her icy nature. Or however that worked. All Sabin remembered was Celes walking the snowy fields as if she belonged there, not once yielding to the cold.

And even in the aftermath of the apocalypse, she refused to drop her guard. Maybe that was how she survived, how she found him.

“So am I.”

Her voice snapped him out of his reverie. What was she referring to? Sabin licked his lips before parting them to ask, but she already curled up, her back facing him, and welcomed whatever rest found her. And that quiet voice echoed within Sabin as he took first watch. The flames died and embers smoldered, refusing to snuff out. Almost like Celes. The thought should have brought a smile to his lips; instead, Sabin frowned and opted to persist through the second watch.

Their travels proved to be no different from that first night. They walked countless miles, yet made little progress elsewhere. In the desolate land, Sabin filled the air with his voice. He hoped to carry out friendly conversations with Celes, anything to alleviate the dour mood that matched the blood-red skies. She rarely reciprocated, humming and nodding at best and outright ignoring him otherwise. The days turned into Sabin speaking to himself, each unfiltered thought gushing past his lips.

 _Gods, could you say something?_ he managed to keep to himself at night when she finally dozed off. _Anything would do. Just let me know you_ _’re okay._ Sabin dropped his gaze to his lap. _That I_ _’m not making this worse._

He lost track of the days after two weeks. The sun rose and fell, they pressed on, and Celes opted for silence. Such constants plucked at Sabin’s nerves until he longed to punch the earth and scream. But one day, Celes hitched her breath. Before Sabin could ask, she broke out into a jog. Maybe it was her magitek-whosiwhatsit training that sharpened her eyesight, for Sabin caught a glimpse of the distant town a minute after her.

It never occurred to him such a sight would be a bad omen.

The village—which was putting it kindly—was more of a dilapidated skeleton getting by on scraps. Children overran the area, all of them fleeing as he and Celes approached. A door cracked open from a nearby house.

A familiar shade of green hair poked out.

It was the first time he saw Celes smile. Not just in the ruined world, but ever. She ran to meet Terra, hugging her no different than Sabin had with Celes in their reunion. Sabin hung back while the ladies clung to each other; they were both forged by the Empire, but the bond they shared was their own doing. Nothing for Sabin to concern himself with. Besides, they found someone else. The more, the merrier. Yet another person to scratch off their bucket list before confronting Kefka for a rematch.

If only it were that easy.

Celes’ joyful expression fell flat. “What?”

Terra cupped her lukewarm tea while they sat around a lopsided kitchen table. “I said I don’t want to go.”

Before Sabin could speak, Celes stood, pressed her palms into the table’s surface, and leaned forward. “So you’re giving up, then? After everything that happened, you don’t wish to—”

“I wish to have a normal life.” Terra evaded Celes’ piercing gaze. “I couldn’t do anything to stop what happened before… what’s different now? How do you know we won’t fail again?”

“Well,” Sabin offered, “we’ll be better prepared this time! And we’ll fight harder and—”

“Who else will stop Kefka?” Celes asked, frozen in place while focusing on Terra.

As for Terra, she shook her head. “Who _can_? He’s won, Celes. We can’t change that.”

She scoffed. “You can’t change _anything_ if you plan on hiding the rest of your—”

“I’m not hiding!” Terra’s voice cracked towards the end. Her eyes glossed over and her lower lip trembled. “I… I _can_ _’t_ do this anymore. I can barely protect these children, who lost everything. All we can do is keep our heads down and live the best we can considering our circumstances. If _you_ want to try and stop Kefka, then more power to you. I hope you do—truly. But I can’t promise to do that and not have my heart fully behind it. I’m sorry.”

The last sentence was lost to a feral roar from outside. The sound vibrated in the house’s foundations. Sabin’s hair on the back of his neck stood up. Celes rose to her feet, as did Terra.

“What’s that?” Celes asked, hand resting on her sword.

“No, it can’t be.” Terra approached a window. “This is the third time this week.” With a shaky breath, Terra rushed for a door. “I need to protect the children.”

“Let us help you,” Sabin said.

But Terra already ran out and into harm’s way. It didn’t stop Sabin from chasing after her. Even Celes was hot on his heels to aid their ally. Maybe if they secured this problem, they could prove to Terra that she was strong enough to face Kefka again, that they could support her moving forward.

That thought faded when Terra collapsed to the ground, defeated by the mammoth monster terrorizing Mobliz. Sabin and Celes joined her, exhausted and bruised; even their combined efforts did little to deter the beast. Once it raided a barn, plucking a sheep to carry in each hand, it stomped off. Until then, everything but Sabin’s pride recovered from their defeat.

Celes was the first to return to standing. She offered no aid to either Sabin or Terra. The children emerged from their hiding spots to inspect the commotion. Terra—or Mama, as most the kiddos called her—dried their tears and comforted them with empty promises. It faded to a white noise as Sabin watched Celes skirt the outer edge of Mobliz, ignoring the friend she desperately yearned to save.

Save from what, though? The recent monster invasion? The harsh world? Kefka? Herself, even?

Terra might have refused to join their quest, but she extended an invitation to the two of them. “You’re welcome to stay,” she said. “Rest up before heading out. We don’t have much for food, but….”

More was said. Celes didn’t bother to hear Terra out, marching out of the town and elsewhere. Sabin scrambled to his feet and called to her. Nothing.

Gently cursing under his breath, he eyed Terra while pivoting in Celes’ direction. “I hate to say no to free chow, but we got to go. Maybe another time?” He tried to smile. “It was great seeing you, Terra! Keep these kiddos safe, alright?”

He tried to ignore the twinge of sadness in her blank stare. He tried to ignore the shiver living in his spine. He tried to ignore the burn in his muscles as he sprinted after Celes.

“H-hey!” Each breathless attempt to garner her attention failed. Sabin clenched his jaw and pushed harder. “Celes, wait up! We’ve been walking all day. Sun’s getting low, too. Why not take Terra up on her offer and—”

Spinning on her heels, she turned and faced him in a sharp, fluid motion. Sabin skidded to a halt, thankful he didn’t crash into her.

“Stay if you want,” she said, both her voice and features oddly calm. “I’m moving on.”

“But—”

There was no room for discussion; Celes made up her mind upon their defeat. She resumed her relentless march, retracing the path they took to Mobliz. Where exactly… who knew. None of the terrains matched the maps Sabin was forced to memorize as a child. Royal preparation, or so he was told. Those so-called prized skills were worthless in a broken, abandoned world. Perhaps her sense of direction was better than his. Something to do with her enhanced senses and all.

So Sabin stilled his tongue and followed, unsure what words could heal the invisible rift between them.

* * *

“Do you need a hand?”

Dusk bled to twilight as stars twinkled into view. Against the sparse light were occasional sparks from flint. Celes hunched over the small bundle of dried leaves and twigs she mustered for tinder. Sabin also asked if she wanted help with gathering the items. She never acknowledged him.

Now was no different.

Each strike with the flint was like a mantra. No fire blazed to life, but Celes persisted, seemingly possessed and unyielding.

Sabin rubbed his jaw and dared to approach. “You know, I’ve started plenty of fires back when I was training with Duncan. Being out in the wilderness and all.”

His words never broke her free from her trance.

He sighed. “Celes, you don’t have to do this by yourself if you don’t—”

The flint crashed into the ground. It ricocheted off the dirt until it slowed to a bounce, then a halt. Sabin froze. Her action had been blindingly fast, but he didn’t mistake her rising to her feet and walking away. Tense muscles slide up her neck, almost trembling—like a waterskin sipping in more liquid, yet ready to burst.

“Celes?” No response. “Hey, where are you—”

Sabin jogged after her, only to stop. She raked fingers through her hair and clung to her scalp. Her steps stuttered. Each audible breath skittered. When her feet failed her, she dropped to her knees and curled into herself.

Gingerly approaching, Sabin combed his frantic thoughts for the right words to coax her back to reality. But what was he to say? Why was she even like this? Why would she—

It didn’t matter when Celes flung her head back and screamed.

The visceral sound ripped through the world, but it was the ice that exploded around her that surprised Sabin. He sucked in air, the bitter cold like a knife in his throat, and shielded himself from the wall of hale crashing over him. Goosebumps flooded his skin and sensation left the tips of his fingers, nose, and ears. Gentle snowfall graced the atmosphere. Slowly cracking his eyes open, Sabin lowered his guard and witnessed the aftermath.

Celes knelt in the center of her abrupt storm. Icicles surrounded her like massive caltrops. A thin blanket of powdered snow coated the earth in a perfect circle.

There was something to be said for the display he witnessed. He forgot more often than he wished to admit that who accompanied him was an Imperial General, forged by the Empire and their nefarious desires. More of a tool than a person. All of it conflicted with Duncan’s teachings. People feared the Empire and with good reason. Same with magic.

And yet Sabin regarded the abrupt spectacle, now frozen in time, with nothing but sublime reverence.

Sobs broke the silence. Celes rocked herself between sniffles and gasps. She clung her knees to her chest and buried her face there. With each hiccup and pained whine, an ice-slicked breeze revolved around her.

Anything to keep the world beyond arm’s reach, the world which loathed and dreaded her existence.

It didn’t stop Sabin from approaching her.

The snow crunched gently beneath his heavy steps, then ice cracked once closer. Celes gasped and jerked her head back. A tear-stained face met Sabin’s, bright blue eyes wide with a sentiment he never believed Celes was capable of.

“What are you doing?” she rasped.

He stepped closer and Celes cowered.

“Leave me alone!” she tried to scream, though her worn voice skipped and cracked.

Sabin ignored the cold, her plea, and her fists beating his shoulders once he knelt. It made no difference; he already made up his mind.

And when her weak assault slowed to a standstill and fresh tears pooled in her eyes and her barricade of icicles chipped and dissolved, Sabin swept tight arms around her.

Frantic heartbeats slammed into his chest. Each sip of air vibrated against him. Sabin swore she might have passed out. Then slowly, gently, frail arms enveloped him.

She hid her face in the nook of his neck. Tears coated his skin. Muffled sobs thrummed in his body. And he held her until the snow melted, until the chill lifted, until it was just them and the ruined world and the stars.

* * *

“There we go!” Sabin clapped his hands clean and marveled at the fire roaring to life. “Should keep going until sunrise. Not too bad for a bunch of twigs and leaves, eh?”

He peered back at Celes, sitting on her heels while staring at the flames. Orange light danced across her face while the shadows claimed the remainder. A thick blanket draped over her shoulders and she clung to the hem. He suggested it, anyways—the blanket. Not to keep warm, but to help take off the edge. He used to share one with Edgar, back when their father passed away and the stress of being an heir to the throne rose daily. Maybe it would help Celes.

Or maybe it wouldn’t. But she had yet to rip it off and chuck it to the flames.

They munched on the last of their rations from Tzen—the emergency stock in case they couldn’t hunt or scavenge anything. Sabin offered the majority to Celes. Food made Sabin happy, but she needed the pick-me-up more than he did. By the time he scarfed down his share, Celes had barely made a dent in hers.

He yearned to talk, but he thought better. If her quiet nature during the travels didn’t teach him anything, then nothing would. Thus Sabin sighed and slumped forward, forearms resting on his knees while he stared at the flames.

Maybe this _was_ a bad idea. Maybe he should have stayed in Tzen and pretended the worst fate had overcome his friends. At least then they would no longer have to suffer. Sabin could get by alone. Not his favorite scenario, but it beat the alternatives.

And Celes wouldn’t have to tolerate his presence or feel the need to bite her tongue whenever he loosened his or humor him with travel and camping. In another lifetime, it might have worked between them—as friends, as allies, as anything that wasn’t the tension lingering in the air.

He closed his eyes. The fire cracked and sputtered. Nocturnal critters cooed and chirped in the distance.

“I used to hate her.”

He jerked upright, mentally berating himself a second too late. It was possible his mind procured figments to taunt him with, especially when Celes sat unmoving beside him. The occasional breeze played with stray strands of blonde hair, though her unblinking eyes fixed on the flames.

Once her lips moved again, Sabin thought otherwise.

“She was the only other girl in the Empire my age,” she murmured, her nostalgia soured by melancholy. “Perhaps in a normal life, we would’ve been friends, but our upbringing was far from normal. Kids played on the streets and went home to loving families while I had to attend injection treatments until I passed out.” She paused. “Terra didn’t have to. I was told she was special. That’s all.” Another pause. “I thought I was special once, too. Surviving the magitek procedures was a rare feat.

“But I wasn’t the first—Kefka was. When the soldiers harassed me, because how _dare_ a woman rise the ranks above them, they used to say Kefka went mad thanks to the injections. I’d ask Cid and he told me not to worry. I… looked up to Kefka back then.” Celes coughed up half-hearted laugh and rubbed and eye with the heel of her palm. “That’s horrible, isn’t it?”

Sabin didn’t answer. What was there to say to undo the pains of the past?

“I didn’t see madness,” Celes continued. “I saw someone competent and fearless and powerful. I wanted that myself. I wanted people to take me seriously. I wanted… to not live in fear that if I messed up once, I’d be discarded just like the others.”

“The others?” he couldn’t help but ask.

She cracked a jaded smile. “You think there weren’t others tested on between Kefka and myself?”

Sabin paled and swallowed. He didn’t need to pry further.

Celes tugged her blanket tighter around her form. “But once I realized Kefka was far from sane, it was too late.” She licked her lips before adding, “Same with Terra. It was before I was promoted that I realized her and I had more in common than I wanted to believe. We grew close rather quickly. I can’t even remember what brought on the sudden camaraderie. But I do remember she was swept away as soon as we bonded. And Kefka turned her into a puppet. All because she didn’t behave to the Emperor’s liking. So they broke her. And she complied. Only then did I realize Kefka had been descending into his madness for as long as I knew him.”

An exhale trembled past her lips. Celes doubled forward. “I couldn’t save her. I tried. They threw me in a prison and sentenced me to death. I welcomed it. But I cheated death and Terra and I reunited and I thought things would be better, despite the circumstances.” Celes shuddered. “That wasn’t Terra. The Terra I knew was more vibrant than any bonfire. She was loud and outspoken—a true force to behold. The Empire turned her into a hollow shell and for what? To use her as they saw fit? Because she was fed up with their games and lies?

“Something needed to be done to stop the Empire, but what Kefka did….” Silence passed for some time before Celes reclaimed her voice. “I’ve wondered lately when my turn will be. When will I follow his example and welcome madness? Then again, I’ve never been like you and the others. I stay awake because my heart pounds in my head and a million thoughts of mine won’t shut up. I’ve spent my whole life fearing I’d fail and then I did.” Her voice shook like a leaf in a storm. “Again and again and again.”

All she said tore through Sabin’s soul, but it was her final comment which dealt the coup de grâce. “I even failed at taking my own life.

“What?!”

Her blue eyes flicked to his briefly. Nothing more.

“Celes, why would you—”

“Why not?” Her empty words shuddered as tears pooled in her eyes. “I’ve done nothing worthwhile and the world is destroyed. People have saved me when I fell, but there was no one to catch me this time. I don’t wish to be a burden. I… don’t want to turn into _him_. You saw what I was capable of—with the ice. I could do worse. I could—”

“Then you don’t.” He slid closer and ducked in to catch her gaze. “Out of all of us, you and Terra have the best reasons to be angry. All this time, you could have done something awful, but you didn’t. And I’m not one for destiny and all that, but if you… tried to do what you did and survived? Don’t you think that’s enough reason to stay alive?”

Celes simply lowered her head. “I thought everyone was dead.”

“Well, I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m still kicking! Something must have provoked you to go looking, right?”

“Maybe.” She groaned. “It was stupid, anyways.”

“Nothing’s stupid.”

“I found something when I came to and I thought… maybe it belonged to someone. Maybe _they_ were alive. Maybe I could search for them and if we were together….” Her words trailed out as tears fell from her chin. “I didn’t want to find you. You weren’t who I was looking for. But it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t fix anything. I know that now.”

Sabin sat there, lips ajar and brows lifted. A shiver pulsed through him—he hadn’t felt that since he made the deal with Edgar and departed Figaro.

“Celes,” he said softly and reached for her. She didn’t flinch away when he sunk a hand into her shoulder. “I wish I could be what you were looking for, even if it made things a little better. For what it’s worth, I was thrilled to find you.”

That perked her up, albeit slightly. “What?”

“Yeah, I know. I barely knew you, but I thought, ‘Hey, maybe that military leader will have half a clue how to round people up and kickstart the Returners.’ But even if that doesn’t happen, I’m just glad I know someone else is alive—that it’s not only me who survived.”

“You’re truly not afraid?” she asked a moment later.

“Afraid of… what?”

“Of _me_.”

“Of _you_?” A beat, then, “Never.”

Their eyes locked. The expression overwhelming her… it mirrored the same face he found when he confronted Celes after her frozen outburst, the face he discovered a year after he believed his friends to be dead. Sabin understood now and if the glimmer in her eyes spoke of anything, then so did she.

And when Celes dove into his arms, she squeezed with a strength that rivaled Sabin’s.

* * *

The fire lasted until sunrise, just as anticipated. Everything else, however, was unexpected. Fresh meat warmed over the embers. Their limited belongings were already packed. An empty, makeshift bedroll splayed perpendicular to Sabin, only a familiar blanket left behind.

And Celes poked at their breakfast, unaware of his waking.

“Morning,” Sabin said through a yawn.

She glanced at him. “Good morning.” Despite the greeting, there was little warmth in her voice.

But that was alright. _Baby steps,_ Sabin convinced himself.

“Sleep okay?” he asked. When she shrugged, he chuckled. “Yeah, me neither. Can’t wait until we find a place with some beds!”

“I wish I knew when that will be, considering everything isn’t where it should be.”

“But we’ll figure it out. Might just mean more walking.”

He swore she cracked a smile, but he blinked and it was gone. “I don’t mind walking.”

“Awesome! But first, how about some chow?”

They ate in silence—save for the commotion Sabin made when he inhaled his share without allowing it to cool—and gathered their remaining supplies for departure. With the fire snuffed, Sabin slipped the stuffed pack over his shoulders and turned to Celes.

Dull pinks and purples circled her eyes, but the tears abated. Her posture was far from the noble warrior he envisioned her as, but their talk from the previous night shed light on the truth. At first, he worried—what was he to say? What could be done to reverse to agony she carried all her life? Sabin had no answers for himself, but then again, it was just that. Worrying over nothing.

“ _You_ _’re truly not afraid?_ ” he recalled her asking.

It echoed in him when they locked gazes, like ghosts clinging to life. He smiled, despite the world giving him no reason to.

“You ready?” he asked.

With a deep breath, she nodded.

They headed back west. Maybe a new path would reveal itself. So long as his legs functioned, Sabin refused to stop walking. He could carry Celes if needed. Until that time came, if ever, Sabin returned to his unfiltered babbling to pass the time.

And to his delight, Celes replied. 


End file.
